


Watch Out, The World's Behind You

by luftnarp-writing (secretsofluftnarp)



Series: luftie's short good omens fics [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley's Bodyswap (Good Omens), Bodyswap, Dorks in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Missing Scene, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), i wrote this while self-quarantined because i wanted something soothing, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsofluftnarp/pseuds/luftnarp-writing
Summary: At Crowley's flat, Aziraphale and Crowley have to figure out how to make the bodyswap work.Also, kissing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: luftie's short good omens fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663723
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60
Collections: Ineffable Husbands fanfiction Gap





	Watch Out, The World's Behind You

_ Saturday Night, After The World Didn't End _

The bus to Oxford drove to London, without knowing why.

Aziraphale settled his hand in Crowley's, without saying anything. It was natural now, to sit next to each other, not a seat apart like spies, with Crowley whispering over Aziraphale's shoulder. The press into Crowley's palm felt natural too, though Crowley was careful not to move, lest he make Aziraphale skittish again.

They kept their eyes down, toward their knees, toward their interlaced fingers. 

"Do you think we're safe?" Aziraphale said quietly.    
  
"For now," Crowley said. "They'll need a little bit of time to recover, form a new plan." Hell -- and presumably Heaven -- were not particularly quick-witted, in Crowley's opinion.   
  
Aziraphale's eyes flicked up to Crowley's face, and back down again. "How long do you think we have?"   
  
"Don't know," Crowley said, honestly. "But I don't think they're gearing up to ride at dawn, or anything like that."   
  
"No," Aziraphale said, with a little nod of agreement.    
  
_ It means we have tonight _ , Crowley didn't say.  _ Now that you've decided that we can. Now that you finally believe me, that our 'sides' don't matter any more. Now that I've asked you, and you've finally come.  _

  
  
  


Crowley watched Aziraphale's face. He seemed amused, not nervous, as the bus dropped them off in front of Crowley's building and they made their way up to his flat.  _ Of course you are, dear, so grandiose and dark _ , his eyes said, suppressing a smile.  _ Oooh, a little serpent on the doorknob, how darling.  _ _  
_ _  
_ "I've been thinking," Aziraphale said, sitting carefully on the edge of Crowley's expensive leather sofa. "About choosing our faces wisely."    
  
"Drink?" Crowley called from the kitchen, scooping up two wine glasses and a suitably ancient red in his long fingers. It wasn't really a question.   
  
"Of course."    
  
Crowley plunked the two glasses on a very chic coffee table and poured, as Aziraphale continued. "I think Agnes knew -- well, not that she necessarily knew, but she saw parts of it, she  _ intuited _ \-- contextually, it makes sense to 'choose our faces' if you consider that you and I can both possess people."    
  
"Ah," Crowley said, not following. He took a swig from the bottle. "I've never possessed anyone."   
  
"Really," Aziraphale said, eyes brightening as though this were yet more supposed proof of the goodness in Crowley that he claimed to know all along. It didn't make Crowley want to shove him into a wall this time, though perhaps he would like...?   
  
"Demonic possession is gruntwork," Crowley explained instead. "Always felt I was going for a more creative approach, rather than a cheap scare."    
  
"But there are clever  _ uses _ for it," Aziraphale said, pulling himself closer to Crowley on the couch, gesturing with his free hand in his excitement. "For example, as a disguise."    
  
"Eh?" Crowley said, knitting his brows together.    
  
"If I possessed you," Aziraphale said, placing a hand on Crowley's thigh without even noticing. "And if you possessed me --"    
  
Crowley stared through his sunglasses. He didn't dare look down at the hand on his thigh, in case that would make Aziraphale retract his hand and apologize. Aziraphale merely saying the words  _ I possess you _ made him feel hot, especially around the thighs.    
  
"If they come for us they've got the wrong one," Crowley finished, mouth dry. "Then what?" 

Then, Aziraphale explained, based on books he'd read (which seemed to include a surprisingly keen interest in demonology, Crowley noted), if Heaven and Hell were working together (they were! Crowley interjected, did you see Gabriel and Beelz whispering together, those  _ rats _ ), and if they tried to take out Aziraphale using some kind of hell-technique, and to take out Crowley using some kind of heaven-technique, but if they were inside each other at the time --   
  
Crowley took a long swig of wine, here --   
  
Then it wouldn't work, Aziraphale explained. Because the vessel wasn't important, if you were an angel, a demon, whatever you would call them collectively, now. What was important was the  _ contents _ of said vessel. 

"Huh," said Crowley, tongue thick with wine.   
  
And, Aziraphale continued (Aziraphale had so many words now, so many  _ ideas _ , which Crowley thought was very sexy of him -- ), Agnes had been consistently reliable so many times, right down to the detail of his cocoa growing cold.

Crowley considered the onslaught of new information. What Aziraphale was proposing was bonkers, and also might  _ work _ . "Well, fuck me sideways," Crowley mumbled.   
  
Aziraphale's eyes lit up. "I could, if you like." 

Crowley gaped. "No kidding," he said, in a tone that whispered,  _ really _ ?    


"No," Aziraphale confirmed. "No kidding at all."   


Aziraphale took gentle hands and lifted the sunglasses off Crowley's frozen face, placing them carefully on the coffee table. His soft hand cupped Crowley's jaw, eyes serene; there was no fidgeting now, no looking away. 

"I was afraid," Aziraphale explained. "Of losing Earth, of course, of losing the life I knew. Which of course included --" He rolled his eyes upward, briefly indicating, and then rolled his eyes at himself, shaking it off. "But when we were staring down the barrel of it all, the only thing I couldn't bear the thought of losing was you."    
  
_ This would be a good time to kiss him _ , Crowley thought, and leaned forward. 

"And of course I'm still afraid," Aziraphale said. He kept talking, breaking the flow of Crowley's advance. "But when I'm afraid all I want is to be closer to you, and if there's a way to hold on to you, physically, in a way that you would also enjoy, just in case we don't get another chance --"

Crowley was proud, almost, that the angel had uncorked whatever inside him was allowing him to ramble about his feelings, but said ramble wasn't letting Crowley kiss him. "Angel --"   


"And of course there is the worry of the plan itself, but it is a good plan --"   
  
"Angel," Crowley said, the closest to 'stern' that Crowley could manage, which wasn't very.    
  
Aziraphale blinked.

Crowley seized the moment, wrapping his arm around Aziraphale, his hand in the fluff of his hair, pulling him into a kiss. Crowley had had enough of good plans or great plans or whatever. Once this fear was over with -- if they ever got it over with, could you imagine, if Heaven and Hell just shut up and left them alone, so they could have this --

_ This _ , Aziraphale's lips against his, surprised at first but softening, the Angel's hands on his back, his tongue in his mouth, the familiar smell of him closer than ever, the warm sound of pleasure he made once he found his footing and pressed his body into Crowley's. Aziraphale's hands were in his hair, eyes gazing into his.   
  
Crowley said something inelegant ("Bedroom...bedroom's better") and flung an arm out to indicate direction. Aziraphale picked Crowley up as though it were no effort at all (was he...was he  _ humming _ ?) and set him down on the bed.

"You're ridiculous," Crowley hiss-laughed, and then they were kissing again, hands shucking off clothing and tossing it aside. Crowley traced his tongue up Aziraphale's neck, down his belly, up his thighs. Aziraphale's hands interlaced more firmly into his this time, not letting go. 

  
  


Afterwards, Crowley rested his cheek on the white-gold hair of Aziraphale's chest, body curled around him. They didn't need to sweat, but he liked it, the cooling effect afterward, without any of the damp human smell. He liked being able to touch Aziraphale in this moment, to continually confirm that this had happened, that they were both really here. 

"When did you learn about sex?" Aziraphale asked.

Aziraphale's question was one of general interest; the sort of thing naked people lying near each other would ask if they wanted to know each other better. Crowley, body loose and boneless with the tension of ages of waiting lifted, couldn't be arsed to be offended when he remembered Aziraphale had made fun of him, ages ago, for not knowing why there were two of each animal on Noah's Ark. Crowley had clearly caught up in the interim.    
  
"Rome," Crowley answered. "Got dropped in the middle of...a lot to take in. Took me a few more centuries to understand why anyone liked it. Had a lot of fun in the nineteen-seventies, though. Then, you know, since the internet, I took a lot of credit for the distribution methods of human pornography." Crowley smiled, thinking of the low-level persistent annoyance of obscene pop-up ads.

"Once we're past -- whatever's coming," Aziraphale said. "You're going to show me everything you know." 

"Oh," Crowley said quietly. He liked this bossy angel. He realized he always had. 

  
  
  


Then, _fuck_. The possession. They had to figure out how to do it.

Aziraphale had insisted they practice with their clothes on, and also that it wasn't difficult. Crowley reminded him that he'd been able to accomplish it last time through  _ unintentional discorporation _ , which was not on the table this time, on account of both corporations definitely needing to be intact. 

"It's all right," Aziraphale said, the warmth of his voice taking on new dimensions since fucking Crowley senseless hours earlier. "Take my hand."    
  
And Crowley took Aziraphale's hand, and Aziraphale shimmered into him, up his arm, down his spine, through his insides.    
  
"My dear," Aziraphale said, with Crowley's lips and face, "you've got to go the other way." 

"Can't," Crowley choked, out of his own throat. He didn't know how to move, not with Aziraphale filling up space inside him. 

"What if I push you?" Aziraphale mused.    
  
Aziraphale pressed inside him and Crowley gasped. His legs went rigid. "Nope," he said, airlessly.   
  
"All right. Let me try again," said Aziraphale, and shimmered back into his own corporation.    
  
Crowley took a deep, embarrassing shudder of a breath. Something about being pushed to the limits of his physical form had made him feel things that they were going to have to explore in the bedroom, later.    
  
"It's funny," Aziraphale said, with his own mouth again. "That's not at all what happened when I was inside Madame Tracy."    
  
"Don't love that phrasing," Crowley said. "And maybe her soul's just not as heavy. Maybe mine's...stuck."    
  
"I'm sure you'd get the hang of it if you had discorporated," Aziraphale said, frowning.    
  
Crowley sputtered. "Not exactly an option!"

"Maybe her soul -- well, 'soul' is an oversimplification, but close enough -- maybe it  _ was _ lighter," Aziraphale mused. "What if you let me carry you?"   
  
Crowley thought of Aziraphale picking him up, carrying him effortlessly to the bedroom. "I don't follow."    
  
Aziraphale started to describe -- not that he danced, not any more, anyway but he'd been to the ballet a fair few times, and read about it, and there was an art to letting oneself be lifted, and could Crowley do that, but not with his body? As Crowley watched the light in Aziraphale's eyes as he spoke, he got the sense that Aziraphale was doing something else, besides speaking, but he didn't know what.    
  
"But less like a dance and more like letting yourself be carried by the surf, or a breath of air --" Aziraphale continued. "You understand, my love."    
  
The way Aziraphale said 'my love' did make Crowley's soul feel light, bursting with brightness, and Aziraphale took that moment to take his hand and sweep him away, down the current, and into Aziraphale.    
  
Crowley blinked with Aziraphale's eyes, whose vision was sharper than his. "Oh," he said, with Aziraphale's mouth. "We've done it."    
  
Crowley saw Aziraphale beam back, with a smile both his and not-his. "I knew you could, darling."    
  
"We have to practice," Crowley said, almost reluctant. This wasn't exactly what he wanted to be doing. "You, for one, have got to relax that enunciation."    
  
"And you've got to learn to sit properly," Aziraphale retorted, in a voice that was not-quite-Crowley's.    
  
Crowley wiggled upright. He straightened his waistcoat, ran his hands along his chest -- Aziraphale's chest -- and across the tops of his thighs. He hooked a thumb into the waistband of Aziraphale's trousers, pulled forward, and looked inside.    
  
"You know," Crowley said, trying his best to sound like Aziraphale. He looked at the parted lips on not-his face, and ran Aziraphale's tongue over his lips. "There are more things we might just not get the  _ opportunity _ to do again."    


Aziraphale leaned Crowley's form back onto the couch, sitting purposefully improperly. "Wily old serpent," he said, slower, his voice more relaxed.

It took them a few more hours to leave the apartment. 

By the time they did, Aziraphale had gained a much greater facility with Crowley's limbs. He danced Crowley's non-shoed feet toward the door. "Fancy a walk in the park, love? Perhaps an ice cream?"

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Endnote: I almost never do song lyric titles but much of this fic takes place at like 3am on _literally_ Sunday morning, please look at me I'm clever


End file.
